


Got Game?

by scandalpants



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalpants/pseuds/scandalpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica is late for a date, leaving Logan waiting at the bar. Several drinks in, he's challenged to prove his game. Pure fluff and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Game?

 

Got Game?

 

She’s late, as usual.  Logan glances at the time on his phone and orders another drink, calculating  the probability that Veronica will show up before he finishes it.  A probability that lands somewhere between _it could happen_ and _who the hell knows_. This isn’t the first time she’s left him sitting while she’s working a case.

 

With a sigh he calls the restaurant and pushes their reservation back another half hour. Checks his phone’s empty message folder. Nods his thanks to the bartender when his fresh scotch is delivered. Wonders if this night will end like so many others, when she doesn’t show until he’s completely pissed, hungry, and drunk.  And horny. Let’s not forget that.

 

They’ve only been sleeping together for two months, since she got home from her New York trip with her dad, and he can’t get enough of her.  Just the sound of her voice on the phone makes him crazy.  Makes him feel like sex is new again.  That’s okay, that’s part of the fun. Until she’s gone for three days because of a job and is late for their dinner-and-sex date.

 

Logan knows it’s the three scotches that are messing with his priorities, but the longer she makes him wait the less important dinner seems.  Though he had been looking forward to it; sitting across a candlelit table from her, sharing food off each other’s plates and watching how excited her face looks while she fills him in on the details of her latest investigation. Maybe a little game of footsie under the table if she was up for it, then back to his hotel room for a little quality time between her thighs. 

 

That last thought makes him feel even more randy but, to be fair, dinner had been his suggestion -- sex had been hers.

 

Well, even if she is going to stand him up for his half of the date, he won’t stoop so low.  Tonight he’ll be the bigger person.  If she ever shows up. Checking his inactive phone again, he tries to squelch the worry that is starting to gnaw at his stomach. Wishes she’d get here so he can just be pissed at her.

 

An appetizer of blue cheese sliders is added to his request for a fourth scotch. If she’s going to make him wait then he’s going to drink, but food will keep him from getting sloppy.  Girding himself for the snippy sound of the maître d’s voice, Logan calls and cancels their reservation; or gets as far as his name before he’s told they’ve given his table away. Even the Neptune Grand restaurant knows how often he’s left with his phone in his hands.

 

Looking for something to distract himself from leaving her a third voice mail message, he uses the long mirror behind the bar to people watch. All the stools to his right are filled, most with couples sharing a drink while likely waiting for a table in the restaurant.  Four seats down is an older man, mid-fifties.  The guy is swirling a tumbler of what looks like whisky, but not taking a drink.  His phone is lying on the bar, and he checks it only once in the two minutes Logan watches him. 

 

The unsettling thought occurs to him that this guy has become far too accustomed to waiting.  That maybe he has his own Veronica.  Wanting to focus his attention elsewhere, he turns to watch the couple two barstools to his left.

 

The woman is an attractive brunette, mid-thirties, who had been sitting alone just a few minutes before.  She seems barely interested in whatever the guy next to her is saying, using the mirror to periodically check the lobby while turning only occasionally to give her companion a polite smile.

 

If he had to guess, she is waiting for a date and never learned how to shut it down when the wrong guy hits on her.  Logan settles in to watch this play out, hoping the brunette’s boyfriend will create a little drama when he shows up.  At this point he’s seriously bored.

 

Unfortunately, the brunette’s date doesn’t make it as far as the bar; the woman’s eyes brighten when she catches a glimpse of a man walking the lobby, makes a quick excuse, and takes off at a clip.  The guy who was talking to her catches Logan’s smirk in the mirror, and gives him a tight smile. Seeing the guy’s chagrin at someone observing him striking out, the smirk fleshes out into a full grin.  Sure, it’s a lousy thing to do, but he’s had too much to drink to be polite and it was a little funny.

 

The guy slides down to sit on the barstool next to him.  Logan doesn’t bother explaining it’s saved -- Veronica doesn’t deserve a leisurely drink after making him wait more than an hour. No, when she gets here a damn good explanation is priority one, then they can get on with her half of the date.  She can get her own food later – it’s not his fault she missed out on dinner.

 

“Was I amusing you in some way?” the guy asks, and Logan turns to really take him in. Late twenties or early thirties, blond hair, blue eyes, and handsome in a bland, generic way. 

 

The temptation to turn this into an actual fight is there, but the Grand has become his home and he doesn’t want to fuck that up.  There are limits to how much they’ll put up with from an eighteen-year-old with a black amex, even one they allow to publicly drink.

 

“Just wondering why you wasted your time on a woman who was clearly waiting for someone,” Logan explains, turning away.

 

The guy huffs out a breath of disbelief. “Clearly? There was nothing clear about it. She didn’t say anything.”

 

Logan swivels on his barstool to face the guy. “Sure she did. You just weren’t paying attention.”

 

“Oh, really.  Well, why don’t break that down for me so I don’t make the same mistake again?”  The condescending tone has a challenge in it.  Had this been an hour ago, when Veronica was just a little late and he’d had only a bit to drink, Logan probably would have ignored it. 

 

“She wasn’t making eye contact with you.  Instead, her eyes kept going to the mirror like she was watching for someone, and she clearly couldn’t give a damn about whatever you were saying to her.  If you didn’t pick up on any of that, I’m guessing you don’t get laid much.”

 

The blond man narrows his eyes at him then, oddly, breaks out into a smile.  “Fuck me. Like this business trip could get any worse, I’m getting schooled by a punk ass kid who thinks he knows it all. Name’s Joe.” A hand and a friendly smile is extended with the introduction.

 

Logan eyes the hand and considers telling the guy to fuck off just for the punk-ass kid remark, but he doesn’t have anything better to do.  Brooding had long ago turned into worrying and he could use the distraction. The possibility that ‘Joe’ is a reporter occurs to him, but the dude isn’t giving off that vibe.  It’s one he can always pick up on.

 

“Logan,” he offers back, shaking the guy’s hand.

 

“So, Logan. Do you know this town well?”

 

Apparently Joe doesn’t recognize him as the poster child for everything that’s fucked up with this place. Good. It might be interesting to have a conversation with a stranger that doesn’t center around ‘OMG You’re Aaron Echolls son?!’.

 

He nods his head and takes a sip of the scotch that’s just been delivered. “A bit. Why?”

 

“I’m stuck in this yuppie hellhole for now and have a couple of evenings to kill.  I was wondering, if there’s a good place to meet people?”

 

Sweeping his hand to indicate the semi-crowded room, Logan offers, “Behold. People.”

 

Joe looks around the room and gives him a wry grin.  “Yeah, I’ve already checked out the talent – the only possibility just walked out that door.  I figure there has to be a place in town with a little more action.”

 

The guy has a point. The bar is more than half full, but the clientele is predominately couples, with a few groups of older society matrons mixed in. Not even the one or two high-priced escorts that are usually a fixture.

 

“Ah, women people. Well, it depends on what you want.  Go to the Seventh Veil, you can bypass the talented and go straight for professionals.”  Now that he knows where this conversation is heading it seemed easier to short-cut it.  This isn’t the first time he’s been cornered at this bar and asked where to find the hookers. For some reason guys always figure he’d know.

 

But, instead of writing that down, Joe gives a snort of derision.  “I don’t think I’m ready to stoop that low. Besides, where’s the challenge?”

 

A group of three women walk in and follow the hostess to a low table in the center of the room. They are all in their early-to-mid-twenties, slim with rather regal carriages, and dressed for a night out.  Logan and Joe share a silent moment of appreciation for the short skirts and high heels that show off the women’s legs. 

 

Remembering Veronica had mentioned attending a ballet that was coming through town for the weekend, Logan is pretty sure these women are some of the dancers.  He’s never seen them before and, given their lean, muscular forms, it would make sense.

 

The grin Joe shoots him bears a hint of lechery.  “Well, I guess my night just got more interesting.  What about you? Got game?”

 

Logan looks over at the ballerinas.  The three are deeply involved in a conversation, the redhead talking rapidly while the other two give her commiserating touches; patting her knee and squeezing her hand when she stops to take a breath.  Though dancers, they each are carrying their shoulders with extra stiffness, and the setting of their mouths is tight when they talk.

 

If he were to guess, he’d say the redhead has just gone through a breakup and the other two are in full-supportive mode. Any man who dares approach them will be considered one of two things: a bastard just for having a cock, or a candidate for a one-night stand to expedite the rebound process.  Since the redhead agreed on a public outing, rather than an evening of pajamas and sorbet, the second is an possibility.

 

The play is obvious – hang back and ardently watch the redhead until she notices.  If she sends one of her friends over to deal with him, he never stood a chance.  But, if she comes over to ‘stand up for herself’, she wants a closer look. 

 

A simple line like, “Whoever is making you this upset, he didn’t deserve you.  I’m in room X if you want help forgetting him for the night,” delivered in the right way, and she’d consider it.

 

Watching the way her eyes break away from her friends to scan the bar, and then rest on him a scant moment longer than necessary, and any doubts he has about the plan are eradicated.  In thirty minutes he could have her in his room, seeing that wide-eyed look women always give when viewing him hard for the first time.

 

Boring.   

 

The bartender places the requested plate of sliders on the bar, and Logan pops one in his mouth while pointing to his empty glass.  Joe’s question is still hanging in the air, waiting for an answer.

 

The burger is perfect, warm and flavorful, the bit of blue cheese perfectly complementing the barbeque sauce.  Finishing his treat, he shrugs at Joe. “Depends on how you look at it.  Game enough to get a date with most quality girl in this town, not game enough to get her to show up on time for it.”

 

“Ouch,” Joe laughs.  “Does that mean you’re in?  Three of them, two of us. I’ll give you first pick.”

 

Logan noshes on another slider while cocking an eyebrow at Joe.  Four drinks in while discussing his prowess, he can feel the bastard wanting to come out to play.  “One, I would _take_ first pick and two, there’s no challenge in it.  I prefer my women a little harder to get.”

 

“Wow. That’s a lot of bluster from a guy who’s being stood up.” 

 

The bland handsomeness that was Joe is giving way to a chutzpah that’s irksome. He is starting to really hate this guy.  “I’m not—“ he starts to protest when his phone finally beeps. 

 

Ignoring Joe while he scoops it off the bar to look at it, Logan sees he’s finally gotten a text from Veronica.

 

_9:32pm Veronica Mars: Case made me run late. Be there in 10._

 

Relief floods him, the resultant deep breath he takes making him more lightheaded than the alcohol.  She’s okay.  She’s okay and she’ll come rushing in with some excuse, promising to make it up to him.

 

A wicked thought starts to form in his head, made to seem brilliant now that another beverage is placed in front of him. The food has bolstered him nicely, and he’s hit that sweet spot of inebriation where he knows he can do, and get away with, anything.

 

“And I’ve been stood up.” Logan makes a show of tossing his phone onto the bar in disgust. “What were we talking about?”

 

“How you don’t have a chance in hell with those gorgeous creatures over there.” Joe uses his drink to point to the women, as if the visual cue is needed.  The guy definitely doesn’t know what he’s doing if he’s making a public show of pointing them out. Logan can actually feel his bravado grow by this show of lameness.

 

“Ah, that.  Well how would you like to make a wager?”  With ten minutes to kill he can teach this twit a lesson.

 

Joe narrowed his eyes and lifts his mouth in a smirk.  “Terms?”

 

“If you can even get the phone number of one of those girls, I’ll pick up your bar tab for the night.”  Veronica had told him there are steps to a good con.  _One, choose your mark and suck him in, check_.

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

“I get first chance at the next one – your pick.  I score digits, you pay my tab.”  Logan laughs to himself, wondering if Joe has been paying attention.  Several glasses of top-shelf scotch and an appetizer in this joint will cost a hundo, easy.  _Two, decide on your prize, check._

 

Joe reaches out his hand to shake again, and Logan goes along with the sealing of a gentleman’s agreement.  Though real gentlemen wouldn’t make this bet in the first place.  Joe grabs his drink and heads over to the table of ballerinas while Logan finishes the last of his sliders.  They’re not popcorn, but he’ll make do.

 

The dancers’ table is far enough across the room that no dialogue can be heard. It’s not needed.  The closed, irritated looks of the three women should be a warning to Joe, but Logan is starting to think the guy is an idiot when it comes to women.

 

Still, Joe makes an earnest attempt.  He sits down at a fourth, empty chair without invitation.  When he tries to signal the waitress, one of the supportive friends grabs his hand and shakes her head sternly.  Joe then attempts to chat with the friend.  About thirty sends of his talking is tolerated before the redhead states ‘fuck off’ so clearly, Logan can read her lips from across the room.

 

It’s a tiny shred of kindness that has him turning his back so he’s facing the bar again when Joe returns. But he can’t suppress the grin that breaks through when he turns and asks, “So how’d that go?”

 

“Like you don’t know.  Asshole,” Joe grumbles, downing his drink and signaling for another.  He sits in disgruntled silence at the bar and ignores the chuckles Logan isn’t even trying to suppress.

 

Swiveling around when he sees Veronica at the hostess stand, Logan reaches up and scratches his ear -- a signal they worked out so that, if he ever ran into her while she was on a case, he would know to treat her as a stranger.  He’s sure neither of them expected he would be the one to use it.  

 

Being so caught up in the trick he’s playing on Joe, it’s only after Veronica puts on a placid mask and starts walking toward the bar Logan that really looks at her.

 

She’s dressed as if for a cocktail party in a floor-length, black skirt that is slit up to mid-thigh, revealing a flash of creamy leg with every step.  Her blouse is sheer gold and low-cut, overlaying the shadow of what looks like a black bustier underneath.  An onyx necklace nestles between her breasts.  Long, loose tendrils of blond curls drape down her back and over her shoulders, though most of her hair is held off her face with some configuration of bun and sparkling gold combs. Her sophisticated makeup and over-the-top do shift her projected age closer to twenty-five than twenty.

 

Three-inch gold heels tap almost imperceptibly as she gets closer, bypassing him to sit herself a couple of seats down from Joe.  She’s careful to keep the slit of the skirt closed when she settles herself on the barstool and crosses her legs.

 

They’ve eaten at the Neptune Grand restaurant several times and she’s _never_ dressed like that; he counts himself lucky if she doesn’t wear jeans.  Being late she wouldn’t have gone home to change, which means her outfit is for the case and not for him. 

 

She’d been in L.A. the last few days, trailing a man whose wife thinks he’s a cheater.  The two times Logan’s talked on the phone with her, it never occurred to him that could mean she was playing bait – not enough to entrap, just enough to see if the guy is susceptible.  That’s bad enough, but she was doing it on _his_ time.  A noxious mix of jealousy and lust hits him straight in his groin, and it takes Joe’s chuckle to pull his attention away from Veronica.

 

“Forget it, man.  You don’t stand a chance with that one. And you might want to get your jaw off the floor.” Joe is speaking barely above a whisper, conscious of how close he’s sitting to Veronica.

 

“What?” Logan focuses on the blond stranger he was having so much fun with a minute ago, trying to understand what he had said.

 

“The hot debutante?  Forget it. She’s out of your league.”

 

Which is to imply she’s not out of Joe’s.  Now Logan isn’t sure which one of them he’s more irritated with; Veronica for showing an hour-and-a-half late looking like _that,_ or Joe for assuming he’s got a better chance with her.

 

From the way Veronica has her head turned looking in the opposite direction, Logan knows she’s listening to every word despite their attempts to talk low. She’s got wickedly keen hearing.

 

 _Step three to a good con, make your mark think it was all his idea._ “No one is out of my league.” 

 

“If you really believe that, go for it.  It’s my turn to watch you get your ass handed to you.”

 

Logan cocks his head to the side and pretends he’s considering Joe for a moment.  The guy is about ten minutes away from being confused as all fuck, and it’s an effort to keep from grinning.

 

“You think you have a better shot?”

 

“Oh, I know I do.  A girl like that, she’s going to want someone a little more mature.  What are you, twenty-two?”

 

Logan waits a beat while Veronica places her drink order with the bartender, then raises his voice just a little bit to be sure she understands her part.  She loves this kind of grift; she’ll play along.

 

“Age is just a number but, hey, if you’re that sure, I’ll even let you try first.  And I’ll up the bet.   You so much as get her number, I’ll cover your tab.  You fail and I get her number, you cover mine.  But, if one of us convinces her go back to his room, the other guy throws in a bottle of wine as well.”

 

Joe raises his eyebrows and works his jaw as he thinks that over.  “You’re a cocky little bastard aren’t you?”

 

In answer Logan waves the bartender over and orders a bottle of whatever Veronica is drinking, uncorked. When it’s placed upon the bar in front of them, he turns to Joe and tilts his head toward it.  “Well?”

 

First visibly working his tongue on the inside of his cheek, Joe nods and stands up. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

Veronica needs to know how to run this, so Logan warns, “Be careful. I have a feeling that one plays even meaner than the redhead that told you to fuck off.”

 

Joe’s grin tightens a little bit and his shoulders go back in defiance. “I think I can handle this.”

 

Logan slides onto Joe’s stool so he’s a little closer and can hear the byplay.  The mirror over the bar gives him a great view of Veronica’s face, but she doesn’t make eye contact with him.  She’s too good to tip his hand that easily. 

 

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here?” Joe asks her, pointing at the stool empty stool on her left.

 

Veronica’s hands are in her lap, holding some kind of clutch Logan hadn’t noticed before. It’s girly and far too small to even hold her taser, which she is almost never without.  But he has to concede her messenger bag doesn’t really go with that outfit.  That kill-me-right-where-I’m-sitting-because-you’re-so-fucking-gorgeous outfit.

 

She shrugs carelessly.  “It’s a bar. Sit where you want.”

 

“Thanks,” Joe says as he sits down.  “How are you doing tonight?”

 

Veronica takes a sip of her wine, slightly shaking her head as is common with those who are forced to explain the basics to an idiot.  “I said you could sit here. I didn’t say you could talk to me.” 

 

Her tone is severe, not inviting of attention at all.  When she leans forward to rest both hands on the bar her breasts shift, pushing against the gold fabric of her shirt and opening the low neckline a little more.

 

Logan pulls in his lower lip to moisten it, not even realizing what he’s doing until it’s trapped by his top row of teeth pressing down.  

 

“But if I can’t talk, you’re going to miss out on my pickup line.  It was a good one, too.”

 

Though he sees Veronica sip her drink and ignore Joe, Logan knows it will kill her let that pass; some part of that multi-functioning brain will be running through the possibilities the rest of the night.  Good.  It’s her turn to be irritated.

 

Joe is patient, turning on his stool until he can look out at the tables in the bar, leaving Veronica and Logan to meet eyes in the mirror. She pleads, he shakes his head slightly, she narrows her eyes, he glares, not wanting to give her this tonight.  When she subtly pokes out her bottom lip he rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders.  An entire, silent argument in less than five seconds and, of course, she wins.  Her wink makes it worth it, though, since it’s reassurance she’s all his.

 

All his, but in an outfit she wore for a mark.  He resolves to not only get her out of the damn thing, but to have the gift shop send up some clothes for her. 

 

Veronica flits her hand at Joe like she’s royalty and gives a beleaguered sigh.  “Fine. You have one more chance to not bore me.”

 

The little smirk the guy is wearing works its way into Logan’s craw, since no one should allowed to feel they got the best of Veronica.  Except him.

 

Joe casually leans his back on the bar and lolls his head to look at her.  “Hey there, do you have any raisins?”

 

Veronica is quiet for a moment, then gives a slight shake of her head and lifts her eyebrows in anticipation of his follow up.

 

“Well, how about a date?”

 

The sucking in of her top lip is subtle, and hidden when she nonchalantly brings her wineglass up to take a sip.  Veronica is laughing.  Not so obviously that Joe can tell, but laughing at someone else’s joke all the same.

 

Logan watches this little byplay, narrowing his eyes at her so she knows it’s time to shut this down.  Anything to do with that mouth, be it smiles or whatever else, is going to be about him tonight.

 

She ignores him, hiding in her wineglass a few seconds longer than the quip warrants and raising his ire with each passing one.  They have a bottle of wine, an empty hotel room, and something underneath that top he’s never seen her in before.  There’s no reason to drag this out.

 

“What? Not even a smile?” Joe winks at her

 

She sets the glass down and watches it, using her fingertips on the base to send it into a slow spin.  “Like I said, you had one chance to not bore me. You failed.”

 

Joe chuckles and stands up.  “Wow. Not even felled by my best line. OK, I’ll go.  But thank you.  You made my night.”

 

Logan waits, knowing she understands her part of the deal isn’t to just turn Joe down, but to slam him brutally.  Which will make his own win even sweeter.

 

Veronica widens her eyes and turns to look at Joe, leaving only her profile clear in the mirror.  When she speaks she enunciates each word slowly, disbelievingly. “I. made. your. night.  How exactly did I do that?”

 

Joe chuckles, not put off by her irascibility at all.  “You talked to me, for even a second and, it must be said,” his face gets strange, open-mouthed and slack-jawed, before his voice comes out rather stuttery, “You’re so beautiful, it…uh… makes me want to gag.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, likely as flummoxed as Logan is.  How in the hell could this guy ever dare talk to a woman?  It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

 

“Sorry,” Joe laughs, actually cracking himself up this time.  “It’s a line from some old movie. It’s just that beauty like yours should be acknowledged.”

 

Never mind sad; it’s just funny.  What an idiot.  The kind of idiot that deserves a nice, sweet girl instead of the vixen he’s trying to make time with.

 

The head tilt comes out, meaning Veronica is either asking for a favor or about to strike.  Logan bites the inside of his cheek, knowing it’s going to be the latter, especially when she adds an acidic smile to accompany it. 

 

“The movie is ‘You Can’t Take It With You’, and that line only work when Jimmy Stewart says it.”  When Joe’s eyebrows lift as if impressed, Veronica tips her glass to him in a toast. “It’s just that stupidity like yours should be acknowledged.”

 

A jolt of desire shoots from the bottom of Logan’s stomach, through his groin and straight to his knees, making him gasp out a breath in surprise. He has to wonder why her being a bitch turns him on so much.  There must be something pathological to it – intimacy and self-worth issues and whatever else in his mixed bag of fuckery.  But who cares as to the why, as long as it works?

 

She has her own bag of fuckery and, knowing how much pulling a con turns her on, he has to shift on his barstool and order his Other Logan to stand down for at least the few more minutes it will take to pull this off and get her to his suite.

 

Joe’s little eye-flicker to the mirror is met with Logan’s smirk, making the guy grimace before giving Veronica a nod and standing up.  “Noted.  You have a good night.”

 

Veronica looks pointedly down at the wine in front of her, repeating the dismissive wave. “I will now.”

 

The alcohol is starting to be absorbed by the sliders, so Logan’s head is clearing slightly.  Enough that he manages to keep a straight face while Joe walks away from Veronica, moving to Logan’s previous stool, so he’s as far from her as possible.

 

“Well, on the upside the bet is a draw. As pissed as she is, no way are you making any headway there,” Joe says, giving Logan the sheepish grin of someone who accepts defeat gracefully.   A better man would buy the guy a drink, introduce Veronica, have a laugh and wish him a good night.  Tonight, he is not a better man.

 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.”  Logan picks up the glass in front of him that has at least two swallows left and uses it to point at Joe.  “You just have to learn to read people.  She might look like a Persian, but that one’s a bobcat.  You tried to be nice, saying ‘here, kitty’, and reaching out to pet her.  Wrong approach.   A woman like that isn’t looking for nice.”

 

Joe rolls his eyes and sticks his fingers in his glass, scooping out an ice cube to toss in his mouth before speaking around it.  “Bullshit. She’s a dead end.  No one is getting anywhere with her.”

 

The glance he gives Veronica in the mirror tells him differently.  Her head is turned away but she’s listening, waiting for him to make his move, and he’s definitely getting somewhere with this game. There’s a deliberate promise in the way she is running her fingertips slowly up and down the stem of her wineglass. 

 

Searching for fortitude, Logan closes his eyes and turns his head so that when he opens them, he’s looking at Joe.  “You’re not getting anywhere with her.  I’m going to be walking out of here with that ethereal creature under my arm in a few minutes.”

 

Joe’s phone rings, and he picks it up with a frown. “Crap, it’s work.  I’m going to step out where it’s a little quieter to take this.  Don’t do anything until I get back, okay?  I _really_ want to watch you get shot down.”

 

Logan nods at him, watching as he steps outside the bar, into the quieter lobby, but still in view.  Picking up his phone, he shoots off a quick text to Veronica.

 

_9:46pm Logan Echolls: He’ll be back in a minute. What’s with the getup?_

 

She picks up her vibrating phone and holds it to her left, at hip level, so if Joe looks over it won’t be obvious that she’s on her phone.

 

_Veronica: Work thing. But I figured it was a 2fer since we had a date right after._

 

_Logan: No. We had a date almost 2 hrs ago. UR late._

 

Joe glances over during his phone call, using his hand like a sock puppet to indicate other person on his phone is talking endlessly, and rolls his eyes.  Logan nods in acknowledgement before glancing down at his own phone. 

 

_Veronica: I’ll explain l8r._

 

_Logan: Just tell me if it worked._

 

_Veronica: If what worked?_

 

_Logan: Did ur john bite so u get ur payday?_

 

The glare she gives him in the mirror is interrupted by Joe coming back.  She slides the phone back into her clutch and sets her jaw in a hard line that lets Logan know she’s now as pissed as he is.  Belatedly, through his scotch fog, he realizes that particular little conversation would probably have best waited until they were alone.

 

That she hasn’t walked out could mean too many things: she’s dealing with the same mixture of anger and lust he is and to leave would resolve neither, she’s invested in this little game they’re playing with Joe, and, once they leave the bar, she’ll take her wine and leave.  Or she’s going to make him pay publicly for the dig.

 

Suddenly he’s feeling a lot less sure about his chances of winning this game.  Faking an arrogant grin at Joe, he girds himself to confront his fate. “So, watch and learn my friend.  And don’t forget to pay the tab before you go back to your room.”

 

Downing the last of his scotch, Logan slides off the barstool and moseys the seven steps it takes to put himself behind Veronica. Reaching around her, he picks up her drink, drawing the wineglass and her eyes up to him simultaneously.  The incredulous look she flashes him in the mirror is genuine enough to be believed by a stranger.  Or maybe it’s just genuine.

 

She pushes a palm against the bar to make her stool turn until she is facing him, her eyes moving up his form contemptuously.  There’s a dangerous undertone to her words that could just be part of the act.  Or not.  “If your plan is to plea your buddy’s case, holding my drink hostage won’t help.”

 

The skirt has slid open slightly, revealing a sliver of leg and making it an effort to concentrate on her words, or heed the warning.  “Maybe I am here on his behalf, or maybe I just think you’re familiar and wanted a closer look.”

 

Veronica considers him for a moment, then throws her hands up and lets them fall in her lap. “Really? The old ‘Do we know each other’ line?”

 

Logan shakes his head, taking an unhurried perusal of her hairdo, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to go about reversing it. He loves taking down her hair.  He swallows the groan that wants to escape his throat and quotes, “No, why, do you think we're going to? Because I already know an awful lot of people and, until one of them dies, I couldn't possibly meet anyone else.”

 

They’d stayed up late watching ‘Charade’ the other night – his choice – and he can see the recognition of the line in the way her eyebrow arches. Her nod is acknowledgement of common ground between strangers, and she allows the angry look to abate enough to quirk her lips up slightly.  It may or may not be sincere.  “Well, if anyone goes on the critical list, let me know.”

 

Taking one step closer to her, he grins at her. “My buddy Joe’s on the critical list. You skewered him just a few minutes ago.”

 

Veronica lets out a suffering sigh, working her jaw tightly for a minute. Her legs shift slightly, opening the slit in her skirt just a little more. It’s not clear if the move is intentional. “He deserved it. As do you.”  She shakes her head.  “What is this anyway, Jackass Night at the Grand? I must have missed the flyer.”

 

It’s the word ‘jackass’ that changes this from a tentative tease to a battle.  She only plays that when she’s truly pissed at him and, given the worry, irritability, and jealousy he’s been through tonight, righteous anger belongs to him.  “That’s because we don’t mail them to bitter shrews.”

 

She narrows her eyes at him, and juts out her chin. “I turn your buddy down for a drink and I’m a shrew? Man, what do you call the women who turn you down for sex?”

 

There’s something in that statement – whether it’s a promise or warning, he’s not sure.  But his scotch and lust addled brain doesn’t register it in time before he retorts, “Non-existent.”

 

Her eyes flash at him and he knows he pushed it too far. Sex is a big deal for her, and to imply that sleeping with him is foregone conclusion, rather than a choice she makes every time, is incredibly wrong.  The chagrin sits heavily in his belly and he’s ready to quit this game so he can apologize to her.

 

But when she puts her elbows on the bar, jutting her chest out at him, he knows she’s taunting him. Because she wants him, or she wants to set him up for the ultimate smack down, he’s not sure.  Either way it takes every ounce of willpower he has to return his eyes to her face, after an extended moment where he imagines that necklace dangling, hitting her chest in a fast rhythm.

 

“Take a long enough look? Or should we get you a pad and paper so you can make a sketch?” Her deep breath and trembling voice are rife with anger.  “Something to remember me by.”

 

Definitely setting him up for the smack down.  Which he so richly deserves.

 

“Actually I have a better idea.”  He leans over to set the wineglass down behind her and rests his palms on the bar, creating a rectangular trap with her between his arms.  Their faces now only inches apart, he lowers his head so he can whisper in her ear.

 

“Veronica, dammit, I am so sorry.  I’ve been going crazy with worry here, and now I’m saying all the wrong things and doing all the wrong things. Really, I’m just glad you’re okay. Do you want to bail on this whole thing and go somewhere to talk?”

 

Logan remains where he is, his head blocking Joe from seeing her expression. Her long pause makes him think she’s gathering herself to lambast him, and a hundred ways to try and make it up to her fly through his head.

 

But her voice is low, lacking any anger and sending a shiver down his spine when she whispers in his ear.  “Your room, but I don’t think talking was on the agenda for tonight. And I want that wine.”

 

The relief is almost palpable, and he exhales against her throat, before a chuckle works itself out of him. “It’s yours. Let’s finish this.”

 

Pulling back, he leaves one hand on the bar while the other picks up her wineglass so he can take a sip. The liquid is still cold, leaving a buttery, sweet taste on his tongue, and he’s doubly glad they got a whole bottle.  It will taste even better when he drinks it from her navel later. Setting down the glass, he uses his tongue to take in any remaining wine on his lip.

 

Veronica’s eyes fall to his mouth, and she bites the inside corner of her lower lip before raising her eyes to meet his again.  Her voice is low and shaking just the tiniest bit, whether for effect or because she’s affected, it doesn’t matter.  She’s still playing her part publicly and it helps the sell.  “Tell me why I should.”

 

Logan leans down, and is gratified by the sight of her eyes dropping closed, trusting him to finish this whatever way he likes. He doesn’t kiss her, but gets close enough a piece of parchment would have a difficult time fitting between their lips. He merely uses the air and the promise to tickle her, moving his head slightly from side to side until her mouth drops open under his.

 

Pulling back enough to catch the eye of Joe, who’s watching this exchange avidly in the mirror, Logan bobs his eyebrows at him then turns his attention back to Veronica.  Every cell in his body, most especially those in his hands, lips, and cock, wants to forget the bet, as well as all propriety, and take her right there.  Given the flush that’s spread to her cheeks he almost thinks she’d allow it.

 

What started out as a game has turned into an exercise in self-control he’s not sure he’s up to.  Especially when she opens her eyes and he sees they’ve grown dark, like they usually are right before she falls apart under him. 

 

 He has to swallow a couple of times before he’s able to speak, but his voice still sounds thick when he gets out, “Because that is an excellent wine, and I have a bottle of it we can share.  Because this could be one of those nights when you say ‘what the hell’.  Because otherwise, I think we’ll both always wonder.”

 

Veronica’s eyes fall down to his lips, and she studies them a moment before giving a nod and muttering, “What the hell.”  She reaches behind her and grabs her clutch at the same time he grabs the wine, allowing him to take her other hand and pull her off the barstool, and out of the bar. 

 

Looking back over his shoulder, Logan catches Joe’s eye and gives the confounded guy a wink, and beams at him. 

 

The guy will probably spend weeks trying to figure out what happened right in front of him.

 

* * *

 

The walk to the elevators is interminable, and hindered by the fact that Logan has to follow close to keep Veronica in front of him the entire way.  The wood he’s sporting is not the kind that adds to the ambiance of the Neptune Grand lobby, and his slim, gray-colored slacks do little to camouflage it. 

 

She only seems to realize it though, when they enter the crowded elevator and he grabs her hips to strategically place her like a shield. Pulling her close, she can’t help but feel what’s going on and is merciless, subtly grinding into him in a way that is maddening.

 

Logan wraps his arm around her waist, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Unless you wanting me lifting this skirt and completing my apology to you in front of all these witnesses, behave.”

 

She tips her head back and snakes an arm up his collar, encouraging him to lower his head until his ear is aligned with her mouth, which also gives him a perfect view down her shirt. Her breathy voice sends shivers down his spine that don’t help his predicament in the least. “You wouldn’t dare. My dad is friends with the security guards here, so all the elevator and hallway footage is subject for review.”

 

“Want to test me and see how much I care?”

 

She moves her head back enough to study his face, then scoots a couple of inches forward until there is a little unwelcome space between them.  Good -- she should be aware just what he’s capable of.

 

Which is barely getting through the elevator ride.  The hotel is almost full and it’s this time of night when people are starting to come back from early dinners or late nights on the beach.  They manage to stop at every damn floor and, for the first time, Logan wishes he’d switched his room to one on the first level.  He would have had Veronica at least half-naked by now, and making that little moaning sound that tells him he’s hit one of her sweet spots.

 

Reaching his floor, they get off with an older couple who head down the hallway in the same direction he and Veronica are going.  It’s probably for the best since Veronica’s warning about hallway cameras aren’t enough of a deterrent on their own.  Knowing they’re only fifty feet from complete privacy helps him behave, while conversely making it more difficult to do so.  The couple bypass Logan’s door, heading to the next one down the hall. 

 

He returns their polite “Goodnight,” with a distracted wave.  Veronica is standing in front of him still, facing the door and laughing at his bumbling attempts to put the keycard in the right way. She finally grabs it from him and jams it into the slot, mercifully making the little light go from red to green.

 

His plan, if the pictures in his head could actually be called that, is to take her right there against the door.  Her legs around his waist, that long skirt dangling from her hips to create a curtain that will hide the actual act while he slams into her.  It’s an image that could work in an Adriane Lyne movie.

 

She’s savvy to his ways, though, and the minute the door is open she takes off running toward the living room.  The _clack, clack_ of her heels on the black floor beckons him to follow.

 

She’s fast, so they end up standing on opposite sides of the couch – he in the middle of the living room, she behind the back of the couch, with his bedroom behind her.  Every time he takes a step to the left, she does the same.  Her eyes are practically sparking and, when her teeth press down on her tongue, adding a tease to her already devilish grin, he stops moving and sets the bottle of wine onto the sofa table.  He needs to make a plan and wants his hands free for however this goes.

 

“Veronica, what are you doing?”

 

Her shrug shifts the gold fabric across her skin, altering the neckline slightly before returning it back to place. “I played your game with that schmo at the bar, you can play mine.”

 

“You got a bottle wine out of it. What do I get?” He moves slightly, casually, to the right and she does the same. 

 

She arches a brow at him and wobbles strangely. Since she is only visible from the thighs up, it’s hard to tell what causes it. “What do you want?”

 

“Come over here and I’ll show you.” The little bit of physics he’d paid attention to in high school isn’t enough to calculate where a vault over the couch will land him, especially given the unpredictability of his opponent.

 

Suddenly she shrinks by about three inches, and he realizes the wobble was caused by her taking off her shoes.  It’s the first of many things she’s going to be shedding tonight, but this has the unfortunate benefit of making it easier for her to run.  He should have vaulted when he had the chance.

 

“Thanks, but I’m fine where I am.” 

 

His eye rake is intentionally libidinous, taking forever to end up back at her face. “Yeah, you are.  It really is a hell of a nice outfit, by the way.” Though, in truth, her amused, taunting expression is what’s sexiest about her tonight.

 

When she grins and twirls, asking, “You like?” he takes advantage of her break in concentration to jump on the couch and then over it, putting himself right in front of her. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulls her two steps so he can sit on the back of the sofa and nestle her hips between his thighs.

 

Her chuckle is low and, whether it’s due to an acknowledgement of his quick footwork or the evidence of how much this little game of chase hasn’t tempered his arousal, it has the same galvanizing effect of making him groan.  She only chuckles in that exact way when she’s turned on.

 

“What do you think?” he asks her, lifting a hand to brush back a stray tendril that has draped itself across her cheek.

 

Her hands move down, brushing over his stomach, his thighs, his hips, then ending at a squeeze when she gets to the bulge in front of her.  “I think you had the same reaction when you surprised me at my apartment and I was wearing my Beavis and Butthead pajamas.”

 

With her next squeeze Logan’s pelvis jerks forward of its own volition and he’s embarrassed to admit, even if just to himself, that the simple move almost finishes him off.  It’s definitely going to be one of those nights that will take at least a couple of rounds to fully satisfy.

 

He takes her hands in his, out of self-preservation more than anything else, and brings the knuckles of each up to his lips in turn.  ““Those were hot.  Or maybe it has more to do with the woman than the clothes. I have an idea how we can test that theory.”

 

She shakes her head as if confused, her face screwed up in thought.  “Fashion show?”

 

“Or you could get naked and I’ll tell you which of the three looks I prefer.”

 

“Hmm…that’s almost logical enough to work.” She stretches out her arms and places them on his shoulders, leaving his hands free to rest on her hips.  The black material of her skirt feels like some cross between linen and raw silk, the little nubs of the fabric noticeable under the sensitive pads of his fingers.

 

Her bottom lip pouts out and he nips at it, unable to resist taking a taste.  While she opens under his mouth, darting her tongue out to meet his, he reaches around and springs the catch at her neck, removing the necklace and abandoning his earlier fantasies of about it in favor of making sure she’s comfortable.  She once mentioned that large necklaces bother her after a few hours.  It makes a solid _thunk_ sound when hitting the floor.

 

 With a clear canvas before him, he moves his attentions to her neck.  Her low, suggestive, purr-like voice makes the skin under his teeth vibrate and he has to stop to take a deep breath. 

 

“The problem with a fashion show is that the zipper on this skirt is in the back.  There’s no way I can do that by my little bitty self.”

 

Logan has always been able to do more than one thing at a time, so he manages to reach around and find the skirt’s zipper without stopping his work on her neck.  He even finds the buttons holding her blouse closed on the side and undoes them without looking.  Every time he draws her skin into his mouth or drags his teeth over jawline, she makes that little gaspy sound he could listen to on repeat the rest of his life.

 

However, remembering the hint of bustier he’d seen under the gold blouse earlier, he can’t help taking a peek once he has her undressed.  The thing is just as he’d imagined, full of some kind of boning and padding to lift and push her breasts together, creating more cleavage than usual.  All the dirty thoughts he’s had watching BBC come back to mind, though none were ever this hot. 

 

But, instead of the matching thong he’d been anticipating, she’s wearing white cotton bikinis with cartoon cat print.  He can’t help but smile at them, since they’re authentic Veronica.  She might like to play dress up on occasion, but she’s happier in ironic cartoon pajamas than silk skirts and metallic blouses.

 

“Before you say anything, the ones that came with the bra were wicked uncomfortable.  I don’t know how anybody can walk around with a strip of material in their –“

 

He recognizes her defensive rant for the insecurity it is, and reassures her the best way he knows how.  It might be the first time he actually swallowed down the word, “ass” instead of letting it fly -- the thought making him smile against her.  His hands move to her back and he pulls her to him, pressing his erection against her as they make contact to show her how much her incongruous lingerie choices don’t bother him.

 

She melts, the rigidness dissolving from her back as she gives herself over to the kiss.  All the humor, as well as any coherent thought, leaves him as his mind becomes filled with the sensation of her skin under his hands, her breathy sounds each time their mouths changes position, the pressure her shifting pelvis is giving against his cock , and the nails that rake his scalp.

 

Somehow the bustier disappears and his shirt becomes unbuttoned so they are skin-to-skin, though he doesn’t remember the steps that got them there. It’s only when Veronica begins nipping down his neck while working at his belt that he realizes things have moved forward.

 

Logan doesn’t say a word, just lets her take the lead and watches as she clamps one of his nipples between her teeth, causing him to grip the back of the couch for support.  He recognizes that she wants to be in control for the next few minutes so only assists by kicking off his shoes and lifting his hips when she goes about getting him undressed from the waist down. 

 

He leaves his shirt on, too distracted by the sight of her kneeling by his feet, lifting each one so she can peel off his socks and free him from trousers and boxers.  One of the combs from her hair has come loose and the bun is slipping, giving her a disheveled look that goes nicely with the dark arousal in her eyes when she glances up at him.  Man, he fucking _loves_ that look.

 

He waits, his ass resting on the back of the couch.  He’s plotting on getting rid of those bikinis in the next ten seconds but, finally finished with her task around his feet, she surprises him by ignoring the hand he puts out to help her up and wrapping her own around his cock instead.  When she takes him in her mouth without preamble, his hand moves to the back of her head.

 

“Jayzus, Veronica,” falls from him. He can’t hold back the odd sounds coming from the back of his throat any more than he can stop the thrusts his hips start to make in response.  It’s another little game they play -- she trying to get him to lose control while he does his best to maintain it -- a game she often wins.

 

He doesn’t want to come this way, has spent the night picturing that being a joint venture, but is helpless to stop her.  Especially when she cups his balls and gives him a hard stroke before filling her mouth with him again.  And most especially when he glances down and sees she is using her other hand to touch herself.

 

The humming moan she makes at the back of her throat is what finishes him off, and he pulls out of her just in time to avoid a lesson she’s made clear she may never be ready for.

 

The smug look she is giving him when he finally ventures to open his eyes again brings back his earlier resolve.  Her half of the date isn’t nearly over.  Pointing an admonishing finger at her he stands up and accuses, “That was evil,” before heading to the bathroom, her laughter sounding behind him. 

 

The water always takes about thirty seconds to get warm, so he sticks his head under the tap and drinks until it starts to heat up.  The alcohol from earlier is starting to make him thirsty and, knowing they still have a way to go, wants to make sure he’s hydrated.

 

There isn’t much cleanup on his end, but he tends to it anyway before wetting a cloth with the hottest water he can stand and going back to the living room, making sure to grab a condom from the nightstand on his way and tucking it into his shirt pocket. 

 

She’s hovering over a garbage can with a box of tissues and wiping at her chest.  “It’s a good thing they don’t charge you by the tissue here like hospitals do. I think even you’d be broke by now.”

 

He grabs the box from her and throws it onto the couch before finishing the job himself with the washcloth. “Well if somebody would stop before dragging me over the finish line—“

 

“Dragging?  Dragging implies you being unwilling.”

 

The washcloth doesn’t make a sound as it falls to the bottom of the garbage can; he figures it’s kinder than leaving it out for the hotel staff to deal with.  For what he pays to stay here they can replace a few washcloths.

 

He grins down at her, and then kisses the tip of her nose.  “Unwilling? No, never that.  But now you’re going to have to give me a little time before I can rally.”  His fingertips trail down her arms, feeling her smooth skin turn nubby under his touch.  Knowing he is giving her goosebumps drives a little shiver down his own spine.  Rallying won’t be a problem.

 

Grasping her hands, he brings the left one up to his nose, closes his eyes and takes a deep pull.  The smell of her is distinctive and familiar, as is the taste when he draws her fingers into his mouth and runs his tongue over their length.  When he releases them and opens his eyes, Veronica is watching him with an expression he’s not yet sure of.  If he had to guess he’d put it at some combination of tenderness and aroused.

 

He lets her go and walks over to turn on the fireplace.  The room isn’t really cold, but they are both barely dressed and a little ambiance never hurts. Scooping the wine from the sofa table he tilts it at her in invitation, going over to the wet bar for a corkscrew when she nods her head.

 

While he pours them each a glass she settles herself on the couch, wrapping an afghan over her shoulders. He brings the bottle with him, setting it on a nearby table so it’s handy for refills. 

 

He drapes an arm over her shoulders and she snuggles into his chest, draping her legs across his lap while they sip their wine and watch the fire for a while.  Knowing how clothing has a way of getting mislaid in this room he takes the condom from his pocket and throws it on the low cabinet behind his head, under her watchful eye. 

 

“So, do I get an actual explanation for the getup and almost being stood up?”

 

The shoulder buried in his torso moves up and down.  “Like I said, I had a case that ran late.  And I wouldn’t stand you up.”

 

“I’m going to need a little more than that.” 

 

Maybe she recognizes the firmness in his tone, because she doesn’t try any more vague statements or deferring tactics.  She simply sighs heavily and takes a sip of her wine. “He’s a politician.  I’ve been staking him out in LA., but tonight I had to go to this fancy formal event, at the Neptune Sheraton, so I could watch him.”

 

“And bait him?”  A part of the job, she always says.  Just one of the tools in the box.  She’s even told him stories of her dad doing the same, though _that_ thought is too disturbing to ever dwell on.

 

“What?” She pushes against his chest and gives him a stern look.  “No. His wife thinks he’s sleeping with his running mate, using their ‘strategy sessions’ as cover.  I had to get on the inside.”

 

“Is he sleeping with her?” 

 

She snorts and shakes her head. “No.  But his two interns are taking advantage of empty rooms where I’m not supposed to be.  That’s why I was late.  I got stuck in a closet while they got ‘down to bidness’, and my phone was left at my table.”

 

Knowing he was sitting in a bar waiting for her while she was listening to another couple get it on, is...hell, he doesn’t know what it is. Depends on how she feels about it, actually.

 

“Did you watch, or listen?”

 

The room is well lit, with the fire adding its own light, so the blush is easy to spot as it crawls up her neck to fill in her cheeks.  “I didn’t watch, but I couldn’t help listening. I had to know when to leave, right?”

 

“And?” He prompts. 

 

Now she can’t meet his eyes, trying to pass it off as a sudden need to watch the fire.  “And what?  It was sex.”

 

She’s an enigma, but some things he’s learned to read. There’s no disgust or chagrin when she’s talking about this.  But embarrassment…she wouldn’t be embarrassed on behalf of a willing couple so it must be because of her reaction to them.  Which could mean she was turned on by what she heard.

 

“You have to give me a little preamble here.  Young, old, good-looking or troll-like, was this their first time or is it something that’s been going on a while?”

 

She narrows her eyes at him, studying him suspiciously.  “Why do you want to know?”

 

“I want to know what you liked about it.”

 

Her snicker sounds false, especially when she suddenly can’t meet his eyes.  “Who said I liked it?”

 

“Veronica.”  The name is hers, but the tone is his reminder.  He’d done his best to get her to understand nothing she says or does or enjoys is ‘wrong’. Those conversations have led to some fun and creativity in the bedroom over the past two months, and she is constantly surprising him with her willingness to try something new once she gets over her shyness about it.

 

She rolls her eyes, wetting her lips and running them together the way she knows he likes before giving a sheepish smile.  “Fine.  Both guys were very…verbal.  Not like porn stars, but more that they didn’t hold anything back.  Like you.”

 

He lifts his eyebrow at her to make sure he heard the ‘guys’ part right, and knows he had when she nods and her blush deepens.  That listening to two men turned her on doesn’t surprise him, but that she liked the verbal aspect does since she is the quieter one.  Sounds, definitely.  All the time.  But never words.

 

“Have you been holding back?”

 

She shrugs again, her go-to response when she’s shy.

 

“Is that what all the lip biting is about?”

 

She won’t look at him, studying her wineglass instead when she nods.

 

He bends his head down until he’s in her sightline, and they both straighten up.  “Well knock it off.  Recite quadratic equations or sing show tunes or whatever the hell else is going through your head, but don’t hold out on me.”

 

In the middle of taking another sip of wine, she smiles around the rim of her glass.  Once she’s swallowed she grins at him.  “So if I break out a verse of ‘You Are Woman, I Am Man’ that won’t bother you?”

 

Logan takes a sip of his own wine, the butter and sweetness coating his tongue again, before grabbing both their glasses and placing them on the ottoman.  He gives her a few light kisses on her lips before pushing her back on the couch to lie under him.

 

He works his way down her jaw and her chest, interspersing his nips and pecks with words.  “Here’s the…thing…If you’re… singing that… because what….I’m doing is…working for…you, … you can sing…any damn…thing you…please.”

 

She gasps as he circles her areola with his tongue and takes it in his mouth for a hard pull.  Her hips shift under him and her legs wrap around his torso, pressing her heat into his chest.  The way she is seeking a little pressure for relief is a reminder that, while he may have finished in the first round, she didn’t.

 

He stays where he is, sharing his attentions with her breasts equally and letting her shift her hips in whatever way she feels is best.  The nails of his right hand make furrows along her flank, resisting the urge to curl around her bikinis and rip them away until she’s revved up just a little higher.

 

It doesn’t take long, just a few minutes before she is grabbing him around his jaw and pulling him up to meet her.  As her mouth makes demands on his, her hands are pushing his shirt down from his shoulders and throwing it somewhere behind her head.  

 

Her legs have slid down to be around his hips and he can feel her heels digging into his ass, pushing him closer to her as she rises up to meet him. 

 

The damned bikinis are still between them though, and he sits back on his haunches to deal with them, balling the scrap of fabric up and throwing it toward the open bedroom so she’ll have to go on a naked hunt later.

 

Looking down, he studies her for a moment. She is watching him, her hair now completely loose from its holdings and scattered behind her, her eyes dark and her mouth tipped up in amusement.  Her skin is streaked with red where his slight stubble has scratched her, there is a little mark on her right breast where he suckled a little too hard, and her feet are resting on his hips, giving him a clear view of the cluster of dark blonde curls with the shock of pink at their center.

 

The warmth that spreads from his belly is as much from contentment as it is from lust.  She’s beautiful, yes.  Given the flush in her cheeks, how rapid she is breathing and the tightness of her nipples, she’s not hiding the fact that she wants him, which is heady.  But it’s also telling.  He _knows_ her, and how hard she works to keep the most vulnerable parts of herself hidden. That she can lie there so open, and give him that soft look of desire and trust, means more than anything else in this act.

 

He doesn’t smile back at her – can’t, actually, at this moment.  He’s torn between sinking down to lay his head on her breast until he can swallow freely again, and burying his again-hard cock in her and staying there until Medusa can turn them to stone.

 

The compromise is, of course, the best choice.  Do what he can to let her know her trust in him is grounded in truth, and make her want to be a part of him as much as he wants that of her.  Putting his hands on her knees, he pushes them apart until she is lying completely open to him. 

 

He watches her face, making sure doubt or question doesn’t appear there.  When she nods at him, he smiles and kisses her knee before running his fingers up and down the insides of her thighs.

 

Her eyes close and she shifts a bit, settling down as if to make herself more comfortable and lets out a relaxed sigh. 

 

Logan takes his time, stroking her hips , her legs, and her belly in ever-closer circles until he finally touches her within that cluster of curls.   She jumps a little under his hand and lets out a low laugh at her own reaction, making him smile.

 

His touches are deliberate, modified based on her reactions.  Finally he hits a combination of _stroke, thrust, tap_ , bringing out a rhythmic mewling sound that makes his balls tighten.  When he sees her lip go between her teeth his hands still and he orders, “Stop biting.” 

 

Her eyes slide open long enough to see if he means it before she closes them and nods again, uttering “Don’t stop,” in a hoarse voice he knows he’s never heard from her before.

 

She begins to move in pace with his motions, propelling her lower half up in time with each stroke he gives.  It’s she who reaches up to the credenza and grabs the condom, opening her eyes and holding it out to him while ordering, “Now, Logan.”

 

The quip about asking nicely doesn’t make it out of his brain, though, since his need is equally dire at this point.  Putting on the condom requires a shifting of priorities, giving her only half attention while his other hand grasps the package and rips it between his teeth, takes out the sheath and rolls it down over himself. 

 

She waits, watching from where she is lying, her eyes riveted on his lap. Once the chore is completed, she is quick about sitting up and scrambling onto him.  With no preamble she straddles him, grabs his cock and just _impales_ herself on it, drawing an unbidden “Damn, Veronica!” out of him.  From his ministrations she is ready, and there is no awkward business of taking it slow for a minute while her body makes the room to accommodate him. 

 

Once he’s fully in place though, she stills, their eyes locking, hers widening and seemingly surprised by how close he is.  That’s when he knows how greedy she was in that moment, how greedy he _made_ her, and the thought makes him grasp for control.

 

When she would move he wraps an arm around her waist and keeps her there.  With the other hand he reaches up and cups her jaw, running his thumb over the outline of her lips.  She opens her mouth and takes it in, and her eyes slit in pleasure as he loosens his hold and she begins to move.

 

Their rhythm is slow at first, dictated by the languid kiss they share when she releases his thumb and he moves it down to stroke her breast.  But soon the tightening in his groin begs for more friction and he grasps her around the hips, lifting and lowering her until he finds a pace that satisfies. 

 

She soon takes over, grabbing onto the back of the couch and slamming up and down on him as if it were all her idea.  Later he may look back and recognize her point about his being verbal given all the, “yes, so good, damn” and such that fills their space, but his focus is given to her rather than himself at the moment. Seeing her bite her lip again, he has to laugh when she growls out “biting”, which is followed with the sound of his name tearing from her mouth as if tortured.

 

The tipping point – that moment in the sexual act when you know your release is imminent – happens and he knows she’s as close as he is, can feel the way her muscles are tightening around him.  But he also knows she needs a little more to push her over the edge.

 

Since she is now driving he’s able to let go of her hips and work his thumb between them to touch her.  It takes a modicum of concentration to keep it up given the way she’s moving, but fuck if he doesn’t want her to keep slamming down on him at that fast pace.

 

Her head is thrown back, eyes fluttering and her mouth slack as the mewling, closed-mouth cries he’s come to love turn into words, some only half-formed, and stutter out of her. 

 

That final cry, the one that comes from deep in her throat, is accompanied by her convulsing around him.  His hips lift off the couch of their own volition, meeting her with every lunge until he finally explodes, a deep, “God, fuck, yes,” reverberating out of him, though he doesn’t remember actually forming the words.

 

And then the laugh, the deep belly laugh that she only gives when it’s been so good she can’t help but ride on the wave of euphoria, drifts out of her, and he smiles.

 

Her kiss is remarkably chaste, given what they just shared, but her smile is seductive. “So, wasn’t I supposed to get dinner out of all this?” 

 

His hand is reaching for the phone that will connect him to room service before she even rises from his lap. He places their order, then reaches for the box of tissues to handle the necessities.

 

This time she shares the blanket, draping it over both their laps as she snuggles in. Her sigh against his chest is one of contentment, but she only stays quiet for a moment.  Taking a sip of her wine, she lifts her head up, her brow furrowed in thought.  “So how did that whole thing start tonight, with that guy?”

 

The scotch buzz is pretty well gone by now, enough that he’s able to feel embarrassed for his earlier jackass behavior with Joe.  “He implied his game was better than mine.”

 

“Oh.” Veronica snorts and settles back into his chest.  “It’s really not fair for a pro to engage an amateur like that.  You should be ashamed.”

 

As Logan thinks about that, he remembers how the evening started, with him pissed at Veronica for showing up late. Something she hadn’t actually apologized for.  As a matter of fact, he was the one that ended up apologizing to her.

 

He had also decided she didn’t deserve dinner after standing him up, yet the food is already on its way.  She thwarted his plan to take her by the door, and owned him in their little tete-a-tete by the couch.

 

Yeah, he’s got game.  But he’s got nothing on Veronica.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Funny enough, the writing of this story happened concurrently with the hilarious Tumblr, VMFicRecs, Mars Minute Episode 3, when the question was posed asking which VM character had more game.
> 
> A/N: Betaless and fancy free, though shoutout to nevertothethird for giving me some great direction! This fluffy plot bunny is what happens when you are writing an angst riddled fic and need a fun break. Reviews are how you keep your friendly (or depraved, you decide) fic authors emotionally sated so please, feed me!


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